


Your Fingertips Keep Holding On

by sanmyshuno



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (And Not For Kinky Reasons), (Mostly Just On Kylo's Part), (They're both adults. Ren is in his 20s and Hux is in his 30s)., Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Body Worship, Bottom Kylo Ren, But A Very Enthusiastic Relationship, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominate Armitage Hux, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Feminization, Hair-pulling, How Do I Tag, Hux Wears Makeup And Women's Clothing, I don't know, I think that's it - Freeform, Kylo Is Called Both Ren and Ben, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Leg Humping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise, Runting, Submissive Kylo Ren, Top Armitage Hux, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation, alternative universe, humping, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanmyshuno/pseuds/sanmyshuno
Summary: Absently, Hux cards a manicured hand through Kylo’s thick locks but doesn’t let his attention waver from his own reflection.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	Your Fingertips Keep Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mika’s “Dear Jealously”. 
> 
> Instead of writing what was supposed to be the third fic in my [Wideboys 99 Flake Remix](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634800) I wrote this instead. Similarish (loosely said) concept with feminised Hux instead of feminised Kylo.

> **Your Fingertips Keep Holding On**

Hux taps his fingers against the wooden kitchen counter, tea infuser sitting at the bottom of his marbled blue mug, as he waits for the water to boil. He’s relaxed, for the most part, comfortable and warm on the inside; the smell of honey and blueberries hanging faintly in the air and Hux relaxes at the scent — glass dome covering the blueberry scones that he had baked earlier that morning, before the pinkish-orange tint of the sunset started to creep in through semi-transparent curtains and opened windows.

The kettle softly  _ clicks  _ off and Hux lifts it from its base, pouring a measure of boiling water into the mug, watching the soft colour change from the tea. Millicent is sleeping on one of the barstools sat at the kitchen island and Hux gives her a quick scratch behind the ear as he wanders back down the hallway. The short length of his robe doing nothing to stop the goosebumps that rise on his legs as he goes. The hallway to his bedroom has always been degrees colder than the rest of the house.

Millicent didn’t follow him like he thought she might’ve, steaming mug placed out of the way but in reach as he waits for it to cool, sitting himself on his velvety vanity chair. The soft, warm glow of the bedside lamp and vanity candles blanket the room. It’s not the perfect lighting for makeup, but the harshness of regular lighting causes unnatural shadows on the sunken parts of Hux’s face and hurts his sensitive eyes. And he’s too much of a skilled perfectionist to really worry about uneven makeup. Besides, he’s not going anywhere with his face done — _this is all for himself_.

He slides a small pearl hairclip into each side of his hair, keeping it out of the way. He’s careful about the dangling sleeves of his embroidered silk dressing gown as he goes through the motions he knows, second-nature — blending his way through a rose gold and taupe brown halo eye before adding some mascara and a sharp but short cat-eye. 

Hux takes a break, willowy wrist pinched from circular motions, to clean the excess mess from his hands with a makeup wipe before taking a sip of his tea — warm and boldly flavoured — and lighting a cigarette from the pack he keeps in the left-hand drawer of the vanity. Exhaling the smoke, Hux rests the cigarette against the lip of the glass ashtray. 

Hux always begins with the eye makeup, easier to fix mistakes from bare skin instead of having to reapply layers of foundation and primer whenever he gets some fallout or a messed up wing. 

By the time Kylo comes out of his self-imposed isolation from _god knows_ where, Hux is almost finished — a quick lip and gentle highlight before he’s satisfied, tea down to its final dregs and cigarette stubbed out. Kylo pads over in mismatched socks and immediately folds his impossibly large body down beside Hux’s chair. If it were anymore else, it would be incredibly sweet to see, like a huge dog who still think it’s a lap puppy. Absently, Hux cards a manicured hand through Kylo’s thick locks but doesn’t let his attention waver from his own reflection, even when Kylo nuzzles into the petting.

Hux retracts his hand from Kylo’s hair, who follows the contact, resting his head against Hux’s silk thigh. Hux allows him that much and draws on some lip liner. They’re not as wide or full or pouty as Kylo’s, but they have a nice, natural shape to them that would be ruined with fillers. Although, when Kylo’s lips are swollen red and spit-slick and parted with heavy pants, they can look a little too large and blown out.

“You look pretty,” Kylo says, staring up at Hux with puppy dog eyes, so wide and full of wonder and worship. Hux rolls his eyes — because, _of course_ , he looks pretty — as he rifles through his meticulously organised collection of lipsticks — tubes of liquid mattes, bullets of natural creams, sheer crayons for a subtle colour change. All of them nice and all of them expensive because anything less than that Hux wants nothing to do with.

Unless he wants to count the poor thing kneeling before him. Neglected and abandoned by his family and put out of millions of dollars so he grovels at the feet of Hux’s expensive shoes to try and feel something less than pathetic. 

Hux plucks the glass and gold bottle of lip lacquer from its _Christian Louboutin_ siblings. The highly pigmented gloss feeling beautiful and luxurious as it glides across his lips and he would hope so with its eighty-five dollar price tag. Satisfied with the way the pinkish nude looks with the shimmery shadow, he pulls out his go-to highlighter duo and fan brush. Kylo looks up at him like he’d hung the moon as Hux dusts pearlescent powder gently on his face. “You look very pretty,” Kylo repeats, resting his chin on the boniness of Hux’s knee, both his hands coming up to curl around the underside as he shuffles around Hux’s leg.

Hux snaps shut the lid of the duo and stacks it where it belongs, used brush joining the others to be washed later. He lights another cigarette and considers sending Kylo off to fetch him a glass of red wine as he fishes the barrettes from his hair when he started to feel Kylo’s hands inch up his robe, fingertips edging against the lace of Hux’s panties. Using his free hand, Hux takes Ren by the scruff of his neck, revelling in the low-pitched groan that fell Kylo’s mouth. “ _Excuse me_ ,” Hux says, staring down at the offensive hand, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Kylo is quick to snatch his hand back, “sorry,” he says, both hands curling sadly in his lap, eyes downcast in defeat.

“I was already _allowing_ you to touch me,” Hux says, dragging a drag of his cigarette and letting the smoke pour from parted lips, “but that wasn’t enough, you just had to take more,” the hand holding Kylo down at the neck comes around to grip his jaw tightly, forcing him to look Hux directly in the eye, “absolutely ungrateful”.

Kylo could nod his head in agreement if he wanted to — Hux’s grip nowhere near as tight as it should be to restrict his movement, but he doesn’t. Hux’s strength over Kylo isn’t physical, not really. If he wanted to, Kylo could beat Hux black and blue and laying in a puddle of his own blood. 

But he doesn’t because he knows Hux is in control.

The control that Hux has over Kylo doesn’t come from body mass or muscle size, it comes from the slow grind to preying upon the delicate weaknesses of Kylo’s mind and asserts himself as the only one who can give Kylo what he wants — freedom, however humourous it may sound. But after many, many long months, Hux has complete control of Kylo’s _everything_. 

“I’m sorry,” Kylo apologies. He’s eying the burning tip of the burning cigarette, so dangerously close to his face he could probably reach out his tongue and lick the embers. Hux could use his mouth as an ashtray and it makes Kylo grind down on Hux’s bare feet, rough jeans coarse against his thin, sensitive skin.

So much about Hux is pale and thin and sensitive. Kylo squashes the need to kiss Hux’s knee bone, tucking his overly plush lips over the top of his teeth. “Are you?” Hux asks, putting out the remainder of his cigarette in the tray without looking. 

“Uh-huh,” Kylo agrees, eyes shining with the need to please, “lemme make it up to you?”

Hux adjusts the falling sleeve of his robe, staring down at Kylo from under darken eyelashes, he digs the tip of his false nail into Kylo’s pillowy bottom lip, matte mauve and silver glitter. If he still had stiletto nails, it would’ve broken the skin. How disappointing. He digs in harder and enjoys the way Kylo whimpers. “There’s frankly not much you can do for me right now, Ben”.

There was a time when Kylo would fight tooth and nail to try and have Hux not call him that, but like some sort of fucked-up pavlovian response, Kylo almost feels lost without it. “Nothing?” he asks, teasing the index fingernail inside of his mouth. 

Hux leans back, taking away his hands and folded them up in his lap. “Nothing,” he agrees and it wasn’t even a lie. He had many things planned for the night — makeup and tea and butter and lemon on a blueberry scone before having to wipe everything off to sleep for work tomorrow. A moment of sanctuary before having to knot up his tie for business meetings and conference calls the next morning. 

Kylo, especially a Kylo in a _mood_ , is just a chore that Hux isn’t particularly in the mood to deal with.

Hux runs a hand through Kylo’s knotted hair, “but maybe, I’ll be kind enough to give you what you want,” he says like he’s being a benevolent master, “under two conditions”. Kylo’s eyes sparkle with eagerness and Hux is tempted to not give in just to see the joy fade from them and be replaced with the shimmer of unshed tears. “First of all, go get me a glass of wine. My _2007 Sassicaia_ , from the cellar. And please be quick about it”.

And Kylo is quick about it. He shoots to his feet and rushes out of the room, leaving the door opened behind him. Hux uses this time to admire himself, fix up any dishevelled hair or messed up makeup. With all the grace of high-class femininity, Hux walks over to his underwear draw, pulling out a pair of silky stockings. They’re not his best pair, of course, they’re not — he’s not going to dirty his most expensive silk stockings on Kylo, especially not when they’re likely to be dirtied by his seed.

He’s already sat back down in front of his vanity, one leg crossed over the other, sitting up straight and smooth, by the time Ren half-stumbles back into the room. Clenched in one of his huge hands is the stem of one of Hux’s nicer wine glasses, filled carefully like how Hux had taught him to. Kylo kneels back down in the space in front of Hux, holding out the glass like a humble offering. “The conditions?” Kylo asks eagerly as soon as Hux takes the glass from his weakened grasp.

“How shocking,” Hux mocks, “can’t think of anything else but your own cock, can you?” Kylo shivers at the way Hux hisses out the word —  _ cock  _ — like it’s too disgusting to _think_ about, let alone to _see_ or _touch_. 

“Please?” Kylo whispers.

“Fine,” Hux says, “rule one — you have until I finish this glass. Once I’m done, you better be too because that’s all you’re going to get. Rule two — you can only come by rutting against my leg like you were before. Like the desperate rut-driven dog you are”.

Kylo nods his head quick and eager, hands already fighting with the buttons and zippers and fabrics before drawing out his cock — the absurd size of it hard and red. He positions himself like how he was before, straddling Hux’s foot, being mindful his mammoth frame doesn’t crush the delicate bones underneath, with his hands cradling Hux under-thigh with worshipping hands before giving an experimental thrust as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Hux to take everything away; walking out the door with glass in hand and leaving Kylo there to cry into the pristine white shagpile he’s currently kneeling on. 

But Hux doesn’t stop him and instead cocks his eyebrow at him, urging him to hurry up with a sip of his drink. Kylo quickens his pace, runting fast and hard against the stockings, loving the silky material against his flushed cock instead of the denim. 

He hopes it feels better for Hux, too. 

Panting out gasps, he presses thankful kisses to every part of Hux he can reach between gown and stocking, hoping they show just how grateful he is for the chance. If Hux does feel understanding he doesn’t show it, looking down at Kylo with very little expression, taking more interested in taking sips of wine or studying the pearls decorating the tips of his middle fingernails. Kylo groans — he’s so close but he doesn’t know if he’d be able to come before Hux drains the last drops of red. “Please,” he breaths.

“What are you asking for, Ben?” Hux asks over the top of the glass.

“Help me?” he begs, “please?” 

“And why should I? I get nothing from this”.

Ren heaves out a sob, “ _please_ ,” he says again, “I’m so close. And you’re _so good_ and _so pretty._ _I love you — so much_. Let me be good, let me come for you. Please, Hux?”

Oh, _how sweet_ — Hux always has a soft spot for whenever Ren breaks down with broken sobs and wet tears and desperate  _ love you _ s. He settles on helping him and starts to bounce his leg, bird-bone thin foot caressing Kylo’s balls from underneath, trapped hopelessly within his jeans still. 

Between sobs and pants and broken  _ thank you _ s, Kylo comes, shooting bursts of come desperately onto the precious silk of Hux and his stockings. He rides himself through the aftershocks, soft and gentle rocks as he kisses some exposed skin. Looking up at Hux with a thankful face and eyes full of unshed tears. 

There’s still a couple of mouthfuls of wine left in the glass which Hux swallows down in a single one.

Using his claws, Hux pulls Kylo up higher on his knees until they’re almost level in height, and brushes their lips together in a barely-there kiss .“Thank you,” Kylo whispers again, breathless and holy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tellonym user: tellonym.me/sanmyshuno


End file.
